


if i'm dreaming baby (please don't wake me up)

by Pandemic



Series: even if it makes me blind (i just want to see the light) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anti-Donald Trump, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 07:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandemic/pseuds/Pandemic
Summary: “What?” Is all Steve can answer before Tony darts round the desk with speed, landing in Steve’s lap. He reaches out with his hands to steady him, and is rewarded with a handful of Anthony Stark’s ass. He is currently holding the ass of a man who features as an answer on Wheel of Fortune. This cannot possibly be his life.Or the Fake Boyfriends AU.





	if i'm dreaming baby (please don't wake me up)

**Author's Note:**

> Fun drinking game: take a shot every time I use run on sentences. We'll need liver transplants 500 words in.
> 
> For consistency Tony Stark is still Tony freaking Stark, just without Iron Man.

Life is full of percentages. Of calculated risks, and less calculated luck. And Steve is a numbers man. He’s not, by any means, a genius (Bucky would snort at the thought) but he can’t explain the way percentages of success and failure float in front of his eyelids in any given situation. It’s what made him great in the Army, rising through the ranks quickly and quietly before his honourable discharge. It’s what makes him great now as a security consultant. 

He was one of the lucky ones, he knows, that when he was discharged he found a niche pretty quickly that works for him, and works money better. So he made sure to drag along anyone returning from the front without a place to go by the collar. Alongside his tactician brain is a sense of brotherhood that runs so deep he could choke on it. So you can bet that when AVNG Security Consultancy took off, he found space for Bucky and Nat and Sam and Clint and anyone else hairbrained enough to think a bunch of vets left in control of the safety of top level technology was a good idea.

But he digresses. The long and short of it is, that he is shit hot at seeing the risk, calculating his room for failure, and choosing the best option. He prides himself on it, it is what has earnt him the begrudging respect of nearly every military field. But it still doesn’t explain that when they are all sat amidst takeout and blueprints at headquarters late one night (as nearly every night is spent), upon the conversation finally taking a turn for the personal, he does something stupid. When Nat and Clint quiz him for the millionth time, relentless, he looks up from where he’s poring over paperwork and interior layouts, opens his mouth, and blurts “I’m dating Tony Stark.”

The last time he took a risk this miscalculated, he nose-dived a plane into the Atlantic.

* * *

So wait, let’s rewind. There is a bit more to it than that. Of all the names Steve could have plucked out of thin air for his idiotic rebuttal, there is a reason it happens to be one of the most ~~in~~ famous names of celebrity lore. It mainly focuses around their biggest job yet as a company.

Steve thought of AVNG at the bottom of an out of date beer bottle. It had tasted foul, but that bitterness had made Steve stomach something even worse. Pension for a Sergeant was decent, honourable discharge making it more so, and the fanfare with which he had come home had … helped. But he couldn’t help but think of his troops who didn’t have the same. And it was that ferocious loyalty to his team that had his mind alight with ways to put their skills to use in a post-war world. Of turning the experience his team had into attractive sells to potential clients. Thus, AVNG was born. At first a baby he was fiercely protective of, now a corporate behemoth that was synonymous with security protection. And it made him burst with pride every single time someone got in touch asking for a quote.

They operated entirely word of mouth, as reputation spread so did demand, they had no need for fancy showboating when their efficient and fastidious work showed for themselves. So Steve wasn’t surprised, as such, when Stark Inc. came calling. He was flummoxed, if anything, because he wasn’t sure why a company so utterly cutting edge would require any help from outsides.

_“We have our own security.” Virginia Potts, CEO, had explained, “But recently some … loopholes… within the system were exploited. And I thought it best to ask an outsider to have a look to what can be improved. Tony can be a bit – blind – to his own flaws sometimes.”_

_Steve had no doubt as to whom she was referring to. And so, with a wince, he could see the percentages pound him in the head with the likelihood of failure, given the comparative likelihood of how controlling Anthony Stark was going to be over this project especially considering how much oversight Steve preferred to have with any given work. He could acknowledge the terrifying prospect that this work had the potentially to doom them to inferiority, but he could also see how wonderful it would be to give Bucky and Nat free rein on a mission so expansive that they could finally use their exceptional skill set in the way they deserved._

_Plus, he thought as he looked down at the contact in front of him, an expectant Miss Potts looking at him with a grin trembling around her mouth, the endless zeros on the consultancy fee were hardly a hardship._

So, long segue into the boring aside, it’s not totally outlandish to understand why Stark’s name was the first across his lips. It’s more that Steve’s never met the man. Not yet. The team don’t know this information, and Steve’s hoping to keep it from them forever. Never mind that two of his team are former _professional stealth operatives._ So he mentally shakes himself and curses whoever left the Stark blueprints at the top of his desk.

(If only they’d been Namor tech, that man had been hounding him so recklessly it would have been believable) 

So anyway, it goes like this.

“It’s just science!” Bucky shouts, to the guffaws of the groups, “if you are getting laid, you do better work. Universal fact.”

Sam eyeballs him, “What about someone who is asexual.”

Bucky goes quiet, thinking, “They could be getting… mentally laid?”

Clint groans, “Dude, you are being so offensive, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“He’s seven beers in Clint, what do you expect.” Bruce interjects, throwing a screwed up ball of paper that was probably once the page of a contract across the room at Bucky’s chest. He catches it lazily, spinning it around in one hand before throwing it back with force at the offender. Bruce catches it in his jaw with a yowl.

“I resent the implication.” He puts his hand to his chest, mock offended, “I’ll concede to take back my ‘universal’ statement, and instead apply it to this room. You can’t deny your work has got better since you got together with ‘The Agent’, Clint.”

Clint colours something fierce, making Steve smother a chuckle into his coffee cup, “Well, I think yours has gotten worse since Nat decided to show you mercy so don’t know what that says about you, metalhead.”

Steve’s chest bursts into raw pride when, instead of retreating upon even the slightest mention to the steel that graces Bucky’s left side, he grins and shrugs, “Let’s just say I’m distracted by how foxy my woman is when she’s working.”

“Never use either of those terms again, should you want me to stay ‘your woman’” Nat uses air quotes wildly, voice droll.

“Aw baby, you wound me.” Bucky feints a swoon, earning a small smile off the usually solemn Natasha. Bucky’s an idiot sometimes, but Steve watches them interact with a hazy sort of softness and knows that Nat wouldn’t have him any other way.

“The reason I bring this up is that **you** ,” He says, setting Steve in his sights, “need to get laid.”

Steve laughs, incredulous, and senses the room nod in agreement, “I do not need to get laid.”

“Steve,” Clint says, voice sombre, “you so do. It’s been years I swear. Let us set you up with someone.”

“The last person you set me up with was Brock and does _anyone else_ remember that tire fire?” Steve’s voice is rising now, panic setting in, hackles up.

“We only said to bone him, not invite him in and take him home to meet the mother. In fact, I think Nat explicitly issued a disclaimer saying NOT to take him home to meet the parents. Which you did anyway. And he told Sarah she ‘couldn’t cook for shit’” even after all this time, Clint’s voice is still murderous, “Imagine. Telling _Sarah Rogers_ she couldn’t cook. The audacity.”

Sam coughs before Clint gets sidetracked, “Let us throw you one. So that they, in turn, can _throw you one._ ” Sam leers, eyebrows wriggling across his face in a gesture Steve assumes is supposed to be lewd but ends up looking like two caterpillars trying to fight across his forehead.

“I don’t need to get laid. I _don’t._ ” Steve speaks now, voice firm and loud cutting across the general madness of the room, “because I am getting laid. On the regular. By my boyfriend. He’s the one doing the … laying. I’m dating Tony Stark.”

So that’s how it happened. And now we are back in again with the clusterfuck that is Steve G. Rogers life.

* * *

Now, perhaps if his friends had been a little bit more normal, and he hadn’t picked a name so famous it stung, they could have left it there. Happily. Steve could have told them a few date anecdotes he picked up from ~~his monthly subscription to cosmopolitan~~ _occasionally_ skimming the glamour mags, for a few months. Before telling them it fizzled in a way heart-breaking enough that they’d leave him alone for a while before winding back up with this ridiculousness all over again.

However, it cannot be overstated that his friends are anything but normal. Between them they sport a few attractive lifetime achievements not limited to; being banned from ever stepping a foot into any iHOP across the US, having their picture taken and subsequently pinned up under the “not allowed skates under any circumstances” rule at the roller rink round the corner from their Brooklyn office, and Clint had the supremely prestigious honour of being barred from Twitter for six months after getting into a war of 160 characters or less with Donald Trump.

Actually, that last one they are all pretty proud of. Especially Clint.

But regardless, his friends are far from the normal type of people. Whether it’s their collective upbringing and career path, or that Steve seems to collect people just this side of crazy, he has no idea. He knows he couldn’t live without them, but occasionally he has to repeat this as a mantra through gritted teeth as they do something stupid for the fifth time that day. So he knows that when he heads to Stark Inc the next day that this is far from over, and his lizardlike brain is simply screaming _get ahead of this you dick_ repetitively.

His meeting today is with Miss Potts, so the surprise is genuine when he steps into the room agreed upon and doesn’t just see the tall redhead, but the man of the hour himself. He recovers quickly, he thinks, from choking on air (and really, did Miss Potts need to offer him a glass of water with such amusement?) and smiles at his now-client with a grin that probably sidles on the manic, given Stark’s look of alarm.

Stark in comparison to his shaky landing is the picture of slick. He’s sat in one of the long backed chairs, legs up and crossed on the table in a way that’s careless yet refined. The suit that’s casually rumpled is so well fitted it looks practically sewn on, and the sunglasses he’s sporting are pushed back to perch on his head showing eyes so deep Steve thinks he could cliff dive into them.

And well shit isn’t this a turn for the books. Why did his fake boyfriend have to be so unbelievably _attractive?_

* * *

It’s safe to say that consequently Steve doesn’t probably make the best impression in the meeting that follows. Hell, he’ll be impressed if he made any impression at all other than “wow this man is extremely sweaty”. He gathers himself enough after several excruciating minutes to piece together some observations he and his team have made in the first day or so of working over the security and the suggestions he makes are ones he’s fairly proud of. Nat swung it out of the park for them, and it shows by how Stark quietly sits there brooding, clearly unhappy that they are actually quite competent.

“Pep,” Stark speaks for the first time since awkward introductions, “do you mind leaving us a minute?"

Steve can only presume ‘Pep’ is Miss Potts, since she rolls her eyes but acquiesces with a quick nod before leaving Steve utterly merciless under Anthony “Forbes number 1 of 100 under 40” Stark’s undivided attention.

“Look Rogers,” Stark begins, voice low and circling like a shark would its prey, “I appreciate that you’ve obviously come in thinking there is a job to do, and some of the work isn’t as middle tier as I thought it was going to be, but I’m afraid I really don’t need you.”

Steves not surprised, and clearly this lack of shock must translate to his face because Stark pauses and looks confused, before powering on.

“It’s not that you aren’t gorgeous and whilst I’d love to watch you get all up in my business for a bit both professionally and personally, I’m very good at what I do. I only let Pep hire you to amuse herself into thinking that the place is safer when realistically it’s as safe as it can be. I should know, I designed the place.”

Steve’s on the back foot now, personal comment throwing him off, and it’s that which makes him quick to rebuttal, “So then how was someone able to breach your supposed amazing systems?” He asks, tone slightly mean, still smarting at the insinuation that his teams work is anything but exemplary.

Starks eyes flash something painful, “I made an exception for blood. Turns out they lied, it’s not thicker than water.”

And that takes the wind out of Steve’s sails as quick as it began, “I’m sorry to hear that Mr Stark.” His voice goes soft.

“Tony, please.”

“Steve then.” He says in return, and their eyes catch on each other, snag, and tangle in a way that makes the air feel a million times warmer. “I appreciate you might feel that what I am here to do goes against your highly individualistic security here. But there is a reason we were hired by Miss Potts, a reason you are genuinely interested in our recommendations despite what your mouth might say. And with all due respect, I’d like to see it through. My team are _honestly_ the best in the business.”

“You sound proud of them,” Tony murmurs in response, before shaking himself, “and I appreciate that and the honesty. But right now my reputation is in pieces, my stock free falling, and I could use a home win.”

“You don’t have to win alone, that’s all I’m saying. Allow AVNG to provide the assist.” 

The silence that falls stretches out like thick toffee and Tony gulps first. Steve tracks the movement and it almost looks like Tony goes to speak before Steve’s phone snaps the moment as it buzzes three times in quick succession. 

Steve murmurs an apology before looking down to the screen. Clints being trying to get in touch it seems for the last hour, and it’s with mounting alarm he reads the texts to sirens and screams in his mind.

**Clint (11:56): Cap, you forgot your design sheets and if you think I’m bringing them by you are crazy.**

**Clint (11:56): Nat says if I don’t bring them by she’ll tell Phil I showed you his vintage card collection. I won’t get any for a month. See ya soon loser.**

**Clint (12:15): I just held a baby whilst her mother and a traffic warden got into a fistfight about how to park a Vespa. I love New York dude.**

**Clint (12:45): This is one ugly ass building. I reckon it’s a dick metaphor. It’s always a dick metaphor.**

Steve looks up, hears footsteps echoing down the hallway, and further compounds the idiocy that is his brain by saying something stupid again.

“ _So my friends were pestering me about needing to get laid so I lied and said you were my boyfriend and that’s one of them arriving now will you please pretend for me otherwise doom me to awful blind dates involving too much pawing and faking enthusiasm about their terranium?”_ The words come out in a rush, but Stark seems to parse them out with surprising ease. That’s a good sign for the future at least, Steve seems to be half incomprehensible when doing something stupid.

“Fake boyfriends you say? I’ve always loved that trope.” Tony muses, and there’s not much more time before the door opens and Clint arrives like the little gossip monger he is. 

This really couldn’t get any worse.

“So I assume that by telling your friends we were boyfriends that you are down to clown?” Tony says with a straight face.

“What?” Is all Steve can answer before Tony darts round the desk with speed, landing in Steve’s lap. He reaches out with his hands to steady him, and is rewarded with a handful of _Anthony Stark’s_ ass. He is currently holding the ass of a man who features as an answer on Wheel of Fortune. This cannot possibly be his life. 

The door handle shimmies once, a warning, and Tony leans in and asks a breathless ‘is this okay?’ and Steve is powerless in the face of such tornado like movement to do anything but nod his acquiesce. 

It’s an out of body experience, his first kiss with Tony Stark (and look, we say his _first_ and not his _only_ because who are we kidding, it’s Tony Stark). It’s a little awkward to begin, too much teeth, but then they shift and _oh_ it melts into Steve’s bones and settles there. He feels warm and his chest tight as Tony grinds into him and deepens the kiss with a flick of the tongue that Steve chases into his mouth. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the little gasp he wrings from Tony as he thumbs the other man’s trousers, and things are about to get distinctly M+ rated when the door finally rattles open and a gasp fills the room that is decidedly not theirs, followed by a camera flash.

Tony removes himself from Steve’s lap slowly, like he can’t bear to do it, trailing his arm across Steve’s shoulder in a way that sends shivers up Steve’s spine. There’s surprise in Tony’s eyes, but also a wicked glint that’s making Steve realize that yes, this could distinctly get worse.

He stands up and looks past Tony to see Clint blocking’s the light in the doorway, phone clicking away with what Steve is sure to be clogging the teams WhatsApp feed in about two seconds. In fact, as Clint lowers his phone he thinks he can see Clint attaching every incriminating one to a message to everyone without even having to look down. If it was for anyone else but him, he’d even go as far to say that’s impressive.

“So, you weren’t lying then.” Clint starts, no welcome, no hello, “no wonder you volunteered to come down to give the speech to the big guy. Must have loved getting some Boss and Secretary roleplay on.” He turns to Tony now, and by way of welcome simply says, as Clint is want to do, “Did he wear his glasses? We are always telling him how sexy he looks with the glasses on. I bet he wore the glasses.”

Tony laughs, head tilted back, and Steve’s heart squeezes. _Oh no this can’t be good._

“He didn’t wear the glasses, but I want to see the glasses now. I don’t think anything could make him look sexier than he already does, but I’d love to be proven wrong.”

“Oh blegh stop that’s enough.” Clint protests, “I’m Clint by the way. Head of Technical Identity Security. But also this here Abercrombie model’s best friend.” Clint says, moving over toward Steve and throwing an arm round him.

“Bucky’s my best friend.” Steve says on automatic.

“Exactly. We both are!” Clint talks over him. He turns his gaze back to Tony who is hiding a grin behind ~~stunning olive skin~~ _easy Steve get it together anyone would think that’s the first kiss you’ve had in months._

“Well then, now that I’ve seen you are firmly acquainted with Steve’s tongue, you better meet the troops. Dinner, tomorrow, at SHIELD.” Clint says in a tone that brooks no argument, “you better bring your A game.”

“When would I do anything else?” Tony folds his mouth into a grin so full of humour it’s all Steve can do to not pull him back into his arms and kiss the shit out of him.

Clint nods, waves a jaunty three fingered salute, and makes to leave when Steve is shook out of his daydream of how gorgeous Tony would look against his sheets. “Wait, Clint, weren’t you bringing me extra files?”

Clint whips round, eyes wild, “Yes, the files. The files that totally weren’t made up. The files that definitely exist, and were not just a ruse to come over here and check on your back story. No sir. Those files will be somewhere, let me just go... find.... them?” His tone kicks up into question, before he darts out. Steve mutters a curse, and wonders how Clint ever operated as a sniper.

Tony looked at Steve, and licked his lips in a way so sinful Steve almost had to look away. His eyes were carnal, and his voice was husky when he spoke, “Oh sugar.” He said, drawl thick, “I think I’m gonna have fun with you.”

* * *

Steve stood in front of Shield, ignoring the panic that choked his throat. What if Tony didn’t show? Yesterday’s ensuing explanation seemed to just be a show of how far Steve’s foot could end up down his throat. 

_“So, I’d ask how you got yourself into this situation, but I think Clints just explained it fairly well. Pep and Rhodey are the same.” Tony’s eyes danced with mirth, and Steve couldn’t help but grin back._

_“Yeah, uh. They were wanting to set me up. And uh, the last guy they set me up with put my tv through my living room wall. I’ve only just redecorated, I was trying to spare myself from another Home DIY.” And Oh Steve would do a lot more to hear the throaty chuckle that followed._

_“And of course, I can understand why my name came to mind first. I am stunningly attractive and wonderfully intelligent -“_

_“Modest too.” Steve retorts, and he hasn’t fallen into such easy conversation with anyone since Peggy. And that’s a bitch to remember, throws him off a moment, so he doesn’t hear Tony’s rejoinder through the smoke that’s clogging his throat. The smell of wet tarmac and salty tears of overwhelming his nostrils._

_“-don’t worry about it. You’re gorgeous too. Steve. Steve?” Steve can only see in his peripheral when Tony steps towards him, moves him gently to a seat and crouches beside him, “Steve. Breathe. It’s 1.12PM. You are in New York, currently sat in Stark Tower with me. Everything’s fine just breathe with me and we’ll get through it."_

_Steve takes a few big gulps of air so fast they burn the back of his throat, shakes the memories from his eyelids, and goes to mutter apologies, “Sorry. I’m sorry. What an awful first impression. You can still get out now, I can draw up terminations of the contract with me culpable for all losses. How utterly embarrassing.” His cheeks are red and hot with shame._

_“Steve.” Tony says, reaching for Steve’s arm and holding fast, “all I’ve seen is a man who’s friends care about him enough to want someone for him. Who clearly has some battle scars but hey, I’ve been there. Otherwise my working impression is great ass, even better kisser, and I’ll be honest - a bit of an idiot. We’ll get along just fine.”_

_Steve smiles weakly._

_“Besides, in return you can do something for me.” Tony grins, teeth showing. And Steve’s gut squeezes tight,_ _“My reputation is in ... tatters a little after some decisions I’ve made regarding my company. The board think I’m unstable and are looking for grounds to get rid of me. Dating someone as wholesome as you would balance me out. At least for a little while. And you can stutter the paperwork on our project so I can do it myself. I’m too much of a control freak – ceding anyone control breaks me out in hives. Sorry boy wonder.”_

So Steve agreed, because how could he not agree when the terms were that much in his favour? He could take on Stark Tower as a solo project and the team were unlikely to blink an eye - assuming it’s an excuse to spend more time with Tony. Which, at this point, is probably true.

A sleek black sedan slides up to the curb, and out bounces the man of the hour. He’s more casual now, a worn AC/DC top stretched across his frame complete with a blazer and form fitting jeans so snug Steve could bounce a quarter off his ass. His throat is suddenly dry and he coughs in an attempt to clear his lungs.

“Hi.” Is all he can force out, followed by an even worse. “You look... different.”

_Jesus Steve it’s no wonder you’re single._

“A lesser man with less self-confidence would worry you meant bad kind of different. But to be honest, I’m Tony Stark, and I know you meant good different because look at me.”

And oh Steve does. He looks his fill, dragging his eyes down his frame in a way that makes him bold, pushing the boundaries of what’s acceptable. He doesn’t miss how Tony’s eyes kindle in return, “yeah. Good different.”

“You too, hotshot. The leather definitely suits you.” Tony’s eyes linger on his arms, and Steve resists an urge to flex, just barely, to show off.

“Shall we head into the jaws of the beast then?” Steve’s voice shakes, “I can only apologize in advance for my friends.”

Tony laughs, “Hit me with your best.” He says, and Steve reaches forward to push the door open, daring to place his hand in the small of Tony’s back. 

* * *

Shield has been their local haunt for what feels like forever. They came for the 20% Armed Forces discount, but stayed for the greasy and sinful food that could quite easily force them into an early grave. It was run by Clint’s other half, Phil Coulson, who was so scarily efficient Steve had tried to recruit him for AVNG several times over. They ran a veteran outreach centre on the off hours, every Monday evening hosting any veteran who needed a helping hand, and therapy groups every Thursday. It was a second home, and bringing Tony into it panicked Steve, only because it didn’t nearly feel as weird as it should.

“Hey lover boys - we’re over here!” Bucky crows from their regular booth, and Steve waves an awkward two fingers before stepping closer to Tony.

“I am so so so sorry.” He whispers low into Tony’s ear, masking his mouth with his hands. Unfortunately for him three of his team are skilled lip readers.

“If we were playing a drinking game with how many times one person can apologise in the space of a day I think we’d both need liver transplants.” Tony giggles, and with that they pile into the edge of the booth. Awkward introductions are made, Steve arching over Tony in a fiercely protective style. When Tony’s not looking he glares at every one of his idiots in turn and mouths _play nice._

Clearly, none of them listen, because the first words out of Bucky’s mouth are, “So Tony, Clint tells me he found you two a minute away from decorating your conference room yesterday.” And Steve can do nothing but inhale the beer he’d just began to sip up his nose ensuring he sounded like a dying cat. And based on the grin Bucky gives him, he knew exactly the reaction he’d intended on.

“Didn’t appreciate the intrusion, but I’ll let you keep thinking that’s the first time. Your chair at the office is the swivel one, right?” Tony replies, slick and fast, and Bucky cries outrage as the insult strikes true. Steve’s not sure how he knew what Bucky’s chair looked like, but he’s going to put it down to guesswork of a genius.

“Oooh Buck, you might’ve met your match.” Sam crows, earning a mozzarella dipper to the face.

“Turnabouts fair play,” Bucky shrugs, and just like that the atmosphere relaxes enough that Steve feels he can breathe again, “want a cup pouring Stark?” He asks, and goes to grab the pitcher of beer that sits in the middle of the table. They’ve obviously gone ahead and already ordered the AVNG special - “a shitload of everything” (Clints words, not anyone else’s, but it stuck)

“Ah, no, thank you. I don’t -“ Tony starts, for the first time seeming awkward and uncomfortable, and Steve wants to hit his head against the table. _Of course,_ it was well publicised that since Stark Inc had shaken off his weapons industry shackles, it went hand in hand with Stark’s public sobriety.

The awkward moment lingers and festers a moment, before Steve reaches forward for the iced water pitcher instead, pours him and Tony a glass, and pushes one towards the smaller man. He looks up at Steve, lips pursed in gratitude, and takes it with a murmur of thanks.

“So, how did Steve trick you into a relationship? We have bets to fulfill.” Clint makes an awfully obvious subject change in the silence, but everyone’s thankful for it.

“Interesting. What kind of bets?” Tony’s curious now, and Steve groans aloud.

“Well you’ve got the classic ‘bewitched him with his penis’ on 10/1 odds, the ‘Steve’s secretly a superhero and you are both part of a super-secret gang and the relationship is a ruse’ at 27/1 or the good old fashioned ‘Steve’s a dark horse and a secret millionaire and you met at a society dinner’ at 12/1.” 

“Interesting that the bewitching penis has the strongest odds.” Tony muses, straight face, and Steve coughs.

“I know,” Clint nods, voice solemn and face neutral when he continues with. “I’ve seen it though, it’s a top quality penis. Seriously good work from his parents right there.”

“Oh my GOD” Steve slumps forward with his head in his hands, “you guys are the worst.”

Tony just laughs, warm and bright. “He didn’t do any of the above I’m afraid. We bumped into each other at the Tower and several horrendously adorable flirtations from this one here I knew I had to have him.”

“The awkward flirting is what got you? Man you must be smitten, I find watching it worse than pulling teeth.” Sam interjects, and Steve whirls on him with betrayal in his eyes.

“Did I miss the memo that it was annual ‘gang up on Steve’ day or something?” Steve complains, and the grins that affix to Bucky and Clint’s face are so mischievous its terrifying.

“You’ve left us no choice, we’ve been sitting on this A+ material for months.” Clint argues, and like that it feels easy, like they’ve done this for years. The group falls into easy conversation and Steve looks at Tony trying to hide his wonder. And his wish that this was real.

For the most part, Nat is quiet. This isn’t unusual. The rest of the group are such loud characters (aside Bruce, perhaps, but he couldn’t make it today, so it’s more obvious that Nat isn’t really talking much with his absence) that even a slightly quiet individual would be noticed. Nat’s practically mute, by comparison, but that doesn’t make her any less loved by every single one of them.

Thus, you always know when she does decide to speak, that she’s probably been calculating her sentence for the past ten minutes. As such, when Steve makes a break for the bar to order more drinks (just Pepsi’s for him and Tony though) she simply says “I’ll come help” with no room for argument. So Steve resigns himself to a grilling as they step to the bar, order, and wait.

Without much preamble, Nat launches straight into it. She’s not one for small talk, it’s one of Steve’s favorite things about her. 

“What are you doing then, S?” She asks, direct hit to the gut.

“I’ve no idea what you mean.” Steve, instead, chooses the vague response, knowing how she hates it, hoping to throw her off. But he knows better. She’s a former interrogator and if she’s set you in her sights you better make sure you are more prepared than Steve currently feels.

She stares at him a minute, judging him quietly. Steve stays still, not moving an inch. 

“Fine. I won’t press for now, but you’ve used your one get out of jail card.” Steve blinks in surprise as she drops it as quick as that, and says as such.

“Simple as that?” He stupidly blurts out. She gives him a look.

“Whatever scheme you’ve got going on, I think you might pull it off better than you think. Me meddling right now will just cause friction.” Nat replies as though it’s obvious.

“So that means you’ll meddle later,” Steve (correctly) infers, “Nat?” He asks as she walks away, drinks in hand, “Nat?”

Heading back to the table, he sees the group in thick conversation, Tony leading the charge, and is hit with how this could really become his life. This could _almost_ be his.

“Steve! Tony’s said he can build us a slip n’ slide staircase in the office like we’d always wanted!” Bucky shouts excitedly, and Steve catches Tony’s eye - cheekily grinning back at him.

* * *

It’s a few hours later they close down Shield, and Clint waves them off sleepily beside Phil. Steve bundles a drunk Sam into the back of his car, strapping him in whilst Sam sleepily paws at him with affectionate mumbles. 

“Need a lift you two?” He asks Nat and Bucky, amorous in the corner by Shields window. 

Nat surfaces first, “Nah, we’ll get a cab.” She locks eyes with Steve, who has an arm round a sleepy Tony, “Take care boys.”

Whether that’s a warning or a simple goodbye, Steve’s not sure.

“I’ll call Happy.” Tony slurs, voice heavy with sleep, and Steve shakes his head.

“Don’t be silly, I’ll run you home.” He states firmly, and Tony’s eyes are filled with gratitude. _Stay strong, Rogers._

The car is silent to begin with, Tony staring out into the dark, Sam mumbling in his sleep in the backseat, Steve focusing on driving entirely too much for a guy who once drove a truck one handed into a glacier. 

But that’s a story for another time. Right now his fingers tap the driving wheel in a nervous rhythm.

“Your friends are great.” Tony says, breaking the heavy silence, voice soft, “Really great.”

“My friends are idiots.” He replies quick, “but thank you. We’ve known each other years. Sometimes it feels like centuries.”

“They are protective over you.” Tony muses, “it’s nice to have people like that.”

“It’s misplaced. Dunno how they even got into the armed forces in the first place considering they are about as useful as a chocolate teapot.” Steve complains, and Tony smothers a laugh. 

“Well, thanks for having me.” Tony says anyway, and his tone is odd, hollow.

“Don’t think I gave you much choice. ‘Yes hello handsome stranger, I know I’m supposed to be working for you but here have a panic attack off a war vet and a grilling from a group of reprobates’” Steve jokes, cause he can do black humour. He lives in black humour, Sam calls it a vaguely healthy coping mechanism they all adopt like a second skin. Here, have my problems and my PTSD wrapped up in a joke slightly bitter so you can’t do anything but laugh and keep your misdirected pity away from your eyes.

“You think I’m handsome then?” Naturally Tony is wonderful, he moves past the thinly veiled self-attack for what it is, and focuses on the part of the sentence he blurted out in too brutal honesty. Steve looks at the other man in the mirror, and the air in the car suddenly becomes thick with the unspoken kiss they shared yesterday.

“I’d have to be blind to not think so.” Steve answers, surprising himself with the flirty tone that spills out. It’s not like him to be direct, he’s been compared to a Labrador in the past. All boundless energy completely directed in the wrong places.

“So, what next?” Tony answers instead, not taking the conversation to where he’s sure it could end up. Steve has brief visions of Tony crawling over the gearstick and landing in his lap like he belongs there. Of steamed windows and wandering hands. He directs a quick bout of annoyance at Sam murmuring away in the back.

“I need to drop off this idiot and check he gets in safe, then I’ll drive you through.” Steve answers, and Tony shakes his head with a wry smile.

“No I didn’t mean next this evening. I meant next with ... this.” Tony gestures between them both. 

Steve’s saved from answering when Sam chooses this very moment to startle awake with a gasp, “Guys, don’t panic. But I think Shield’s turned into a car.” He mumbles, and Steve huffs a laugh.

“It’s a wonder anyone trusts you at therapy sessions, Sam.” Steve says, and earns a grin from Tony.

It’s not long before they get Sam bundled into his flat, Steve taking off his shoes before wrapping him up in bed with a glass of water and bucket beside him. Tony watches him with a strange look of fondness, and Steve feels a heat on the back of his neck.

Getting back in the car, there’s an awkward moment of silence that Steve quickly breaks.

“So Bucky once was so well known for fucking up missions that our whole unit used his name for five years as a verb for shitting something up so horrifically.”

Tony’s silent a moment before he cracks up, bursting into long streams of laughter so hysterical he can’t stop for a good five minutes. There are tears tracking down his face before he gulps in air, and wheezes “Show your work.”

Steve’s answer is dripping with sarcasm, “Gee, I really Bucky’d our first meeting.” And Tony’s off again, Steve helpless but to chuckle in response. There is something so innocent about Tony’s laughter he can’t NOT join in.

Tony’s eventually calm again, though it takes him a moment or two to gather enough to ask, “Was it really that bad?”

“He once thought our first contact on one mission, codename _Goose_ , was an actual goose and accidentally shot one dead. That had chicks. Which he then raised.” Steve’s voice is monotone, but a smile trembles on his lips, “he just needed a little guidance, at first. He left the field as one of the best Special Recovery agents I’ve ever seen.”

“How did you all meet?”

“I’ve been best friends with Bucky since we were little. Joined at the hip. It was never really a question of what we were doing, just that we wanted to make sure we did it together. I met Clint in basic training climbing through the air vents. Our CO had taken one of the boys lads mags and said fifty dollars to whoever retrieved it without him catching them. He had it within two hours. Nat was two years in, covert ops mission. I’ve never met anyone so tenacious in all my life. Bruce was assigned as our medic. Sam was actually after, through Shield.” Steve sighs to think back on it, “They are a bunch of brats, but we’ve gone through a lot of shit together. What about you? I hope your friends are more well-adjusted than mine.”

“Pepper’s one of the most well-adjusted woman I’ve ever met in all my life.” Tony replies, voice soaked with adoration and exasperation in equal measure, “It makes it awkward when she’s off to social calls that a respectable person makes - ribbon cuttings and the like - and I’ve probably not surfaced from my lab for four days still wearing a week old shirt.” Tony pauses as though he realises what he’s said, flushing a shade of red Steve finds adorable. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. That’s not exactly an attractive and healthy thing to admit.” 

“You’re passionate, I can get behind that.” Steve answers, “I like ambition.”

“Then you are gonna love me.” Tony grins, filthy, and the car is saturated in that odd feeling that Steve can’t quite get a grip of without it sliding out of his reach.

“You’ve arrived.” Steve says, pulling in to the front of Stark Tower. He sets his hazard lights on deliberately, trying to desperately convince himself his visit is temporary. 

But when Tony coughs into the quiet, and asks “So you coming up then? For coffee I swear.” Steve knows he was only kidding himself.

He nods “I’d like that.” Killing the ignition and unfolding himself from the car, he looks up to the Tower. It almost seems to lean over him ominously, and he wonders what on earth he’s playing at.

But, well, there’s a reason he’s banned from doing dares. Bucky likes to say he’s got no self-preservation. He’s probably right.

* * *

After an elevator ride filled with a silence that’s tense, but not unwelcome, it’s not long before Steve’s welcomed into a living room the size of his flat. 

It’s worth saying that Steve’s flat isn’t exactly that small. And features an indoor gym. THATS how big Tony Stark’s living room is. It’s open plan, a sprawling sunken area is the main feature of the room. Across it is decadently coloured ruby red couches, gold trim glinting off the lighting that illuminates the entire room. An open bar is the feature of one corner, a fireplace in the other, and what’s above it makes Steve gasp.

“Is that, is that a-“ He can’t get the words out, “Is that a Pollock?” Immediately drawn to it, he barely hears Tony’s reply.

“Huh? Yes. I think so. Pepper curates my art portfolio.” 

Steves in a state of shock. He stands not two feet from _The Deep._ He’s pretty sure he wrote about this as a senior. If he was to reach out he could probably touch it - wait hold on - 

“Why isn’t this in a well ventilated protective frame?” Tony blinks, and Steve tries to school his tone, “sorry, why is this not in a well ventilated frame?”

He tries again, “Sorry. Sorry. I mean _why isn’t this in a well ventilated protective frame?”_

Tony laughs, “You offering?” 

“For this?” Steve looks at the Pollock again, gaze adoring, “anything.”

He stares at it for a while, completely wrapped up. He senses Tony’s gaze on him, and answers it with, “I wrote about how this piece is an artist’s answer to the Rorshach test. Pollock slicing open his veins, offering the world his blood, and demanding they answer him with what it resonates to each individual. It’s a perfect inkblot of humanity.” He stares at it a second more, fingers flickering out as though to touch it, before blinking and blushing, “I’m sorry, I’m sure I’m boring you.”

“Not at all.” Tony murmurs, looking at Steve with heavy eyes, “you are a man full of surprises, Steve.”

This is a moment, Steve knows after, that had them stood on the brink of something. Of what, he doesn’t know. They both lean over the side, into the dark, and sway for a moment there before swinging back into relative safety. 

“Not all bad I hope.” He says, and Tony blinks out of whatever reverie he was in.

“No. Not bad at all.” Tony comes round the bar, having fixed them both a drink of iced water, directing him to sit on one of the couches. Steve sinks into it, and rather than sitting elsewhere Tony sits right beside him.

“So why is it so important that painting is hung somewhere with protection?” Tony queries, and launches a conversation that sprawls the next hours with abandon. Steve should be worried, he thinks later, about how easy it is. How quick he feels at home with someone so beyond his reach. At the time though, all he can think is how bright Tony shines, away from the cameras. He’s like a supernova, a light close to blinding, but one you don’t dare look away from for fear of missing it.

_“You’re a sap, you know that right?” Bucky will joke at him later when he explains. But he’ll shake his head, uncaring, only focused on the soft and heady gaze Tony grants him with in return._

“I should probably get back.” Steve suddenly says, Tony mid-sentence. He flushes at how rude that was, the image of Sarah Rogers slapping him upside the head with a hissed “ _manners, Steven!”,_ but desperate and self-destructive tendrils take root in his mind. They shriek at him to run, tell him he’s too fractured to deserve this, and he can’t hear get his head above water. Tony stops, closes his mouth, and his mouth turns into a grimace.

“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean to kidnap you.” He says, tone hollow, and Steve shakes his head.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just, this is too –“ he can’t force the words out, “it’s too real.”

He can feel the panic clawing up his throat.

“Lest anything be easy for once in my life, huh.” Tony mutters, “It’s fine. Call me up next time you need to use someone else to lie to your friends, parade me around and show me glimpses of a life I want to be a part of, but god forbid you make a real connection.”

Steve flinches at the sharpness in his tone, makes to leave with heavy limbs.

Tony shakes his head, “Sorry, sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. Of course you are free to leave, you don’t owe me anything.”

Steve wants to cry. Even now, Tony is wonderful, apologizing for Steve’s rude behavior. He stands slow, like he’s wading through treacle, and Tony stands with him. They sway slightly into each other’s space, hands brushing, and it feels like gravity giving Steve the extra nudge, the push into Tony’s magnetic field.

“I-“ Steve starts, throat dry, “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He confesses, and he’s thrown back to ten years old again, sitting in a house with four walls and a stain glassed roof, asking for forgiveness. 

“Me neither.” Tony whispers, faces so close now Steve can feel the puff of breath Tony creates with each exhale. It’s warm against his skin, turning his cheeks red, blood tingling near the surface. Steve feels on the edge of something once more, and instead of clinging to safety, he leaps into the unknown and tangles them both in a kiss that was inescapable from the minute he set his eyes on Tony Stark.

It’s messy, and hurried, and awkward, and _glorious._ Steve feels the weight of his joy screaming through his skin. His hands skate over Tony’s figure, land on his ass, and make a home there. He absentmindedly kneads the flesh, delighting in the groan against his lips he’s rewarded with. They don’t break for what feels like an eternity, a battle to see who can crawl first into the other’s bones and stay there. Tony scrabbles for purchase against his shirt, needy fingers clawing at anything he can reach. Steve thinks he hears the rip of fabric, and idly thinks about how this is one of his favourite shirts, before he can think of little else than Tony’s incredibly _warm_ hands against his bare flesh. He sucks in a gasp, tenses a moment, before Tony centers him with another deluge of kisses that swoop into Steve’s stomach and make him feel like he’s falling.

He gets his mouth of Tony’s for a quick second, desperately trying to ignore the choked off moan he’s given in return. “Bedroom.” A dark rumble he takes a moment to realise _holy shit that was him_ is given as answer to Tony’s questioning eyes. Tony’s eyes flicker like crazy, and Steve tracks the swallow and bob of his adam’s apple with a mild panic.

“Unless,” Steve stops now, desire doused in a wave, mistaking the look he sees now in Tony’s eyes as regret, “Unless, unless you don’t want to.”

Tony shakes his head emphatically, “No, no, no, I do want to. Oh my god do I want to. Especially that Captain-y voice I was just graced with. Holy shit I didn’t think I had a kink for authority but you’ve just blown that out the water. I just want to make sure you want to. Informed and enthusiastic consent is kind of a dealbreaker for me.”

“Did you miss my tongue in your mouth?” Steve says, as way of answer, learning quick that Tony speaks fast and uses humour to dress up words and deflect. Black humor makes a good bedfellow, Steve should know.

“I.” Tony says, stops, “I’m sorry, I need to hear you say it. Shit, sorry this is so awkward.”

Steve looks, really looks now, curiously and sadly, at the gorgeous figure before him. There will be time later, he vows, to ask who broke Tony apart and left him shattered.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone like I want you.” Steve’s shocked by the words that fall out his mouth, and he thinks Tony is too, judging the look on the other man’s face. They aren’t a lie though, not even close, the words truthful and twisting his stomach in the way that only truth hurts.

Tony’s eyes are fond, warm, steady. “Bedroom’s up to the right.” He says, and Steve nods once, before stepping back into Tony’s space with a quick ease, mouth capturing his. He’s gentle at first, grinding into him with a quick dry thrust that has them both gasping against each other. He paws at the other man’s ass, before tracking his hands further down and before Tony can question it, lifts him quick and clean into his arms leaving Tony little else to do but wrap his legs round Steve and cling on.

“ _Holy shit._ ” Tony hisses into Steve’s mouth, and Steve lets loose a grin, sinful and dark, before walking them to where Tony directs. Tony’s weight is delicious, heavy enough to feel, but light enough to allow Steve an idle swipe of his thighs with one hand. “You are going to be the death of me.”

The words are meant to be jokey, but something rings true and holds firm. Steve can do little else but place Tony gently down onto the bed now behind them, and crawl up the bed over him, all the while being watched with hooded eyes that drive him close to burning.

“What do you want.” Steve asks, voice trembling around a whisper. This feels sacred now, feels like worship at altar, to have Tony splayed out like this in front of him, hair fanning the pillow like spilled ink, eyes molten.

“You. Everything. Anything.” Tony replies, voice hoarse and words stripped bare, “This.” He says, swiping desperately at the zip of Steve’s jeans, Steve helpless to do anything but groan and resist the urge to come undone right there and then, “in me.”

Steve’s head is spinning. “You sure?” he says, voice guttural.

Tony nods, head like a puppet on string, “Yes. Yes. Please.”

Steve surges up, catches Tony’s mouth with his own. Distractedly pulls his shirt over his head in between kisses that land on any part of Tony’s skin he can get access to. His lips, his forehead, his neck, the crook of his jaw. He misses Tony’s groan, his nose against his neck taking in the smell of his skin.

He leans back, “What?”

Tony looks up at him with stars in his eyes, “You. You are gorgeous.”

Steve doesn’t think that’s what Tony wanted to say, but he skims over it, let’s Tony feel across his bared skin with shaky fingers. Feels like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin when Tony undoes his fly, pulls down his trousers, leans back and kicks himself out of both the denim and his underwear until he’s naked except the dog tags that clink round his throat.

Steve is suddenly all too aware of how much skin he has bared in contrast to Tony still almost fully clothed. He’s gorgeously rumpled nonetheless, and Steve reaches forward for the bottom of his T-shirt with grabby hands.

Tony stops his hands, quick and fast, and Steve freezes, hoping to god he hasn’t read this all wrong.

“I’m - there are - I have scars.” Tony bites off, eyes darting anywhere but Steves gaze. Steve softens, his hands quieter. Each movement is slow, telegraphing every twitch to Tony, letting him catalogue and understand every move with every opportunity for escape.

Tony’s breath trembles, a frightened thing, and through slow going he finally comes to Steve as naked as he is. 

He’s naked in the way only true beauty can be, proudly and defiantly. Steve sees his hands shake and go up to hide his scars, but Steve pushes them away gently, reaching forward to kiss the puckered skin, causing Tony to groan long and low like it’s punched out of him.

He showers and peppers his skin in quick kisses, featherlight, and crawls up Tony’s body slowly and self-assured. His cock hangs heavy and thick between them, and when it brushes against Tony’s they both moan in sweet tandem at the feeling. 

“Okay, okay, okay, okay” Tony babbles, “I need that thing in me yesterday.” He twists underneath Steve and reaches up toward the cabinet by the yawning expanse of his bed. When Steve realises what he’s searching for, he stretches beyond the other man and blindly grabs at the drawer handle. It takes Tony reaching up to suck at Steve’s left nipple to spark a delicious spark of desire course through him and distantly he heard the cacophony of wood scraping. He’s pulled the drawer out completely, the contents spilling to the floor. Tony giggles against his chest, the vibration twisting Steve’s gut something fierce.

“Heathen.” He says fondly, reaching down into the mess to grab what he needs.

He’s ripped momentarily from the experience by the sight of a condom box, open and half used, and he swallows. This is Tony’s world after all. This may feel like a lot more, a LOT more than a one night stand to him, but that’s not to say it feels the same for Tony. If anything, the way Steve feels right now is probably due to Tony’s ... wealth of experience. And he’s not shaming the other man for that, he’s not. He just feels suddenly overwhelmed against the shock of his own inexperience, the months since he’s taken a lover of his own shrieking at him. He calculates the risk, silently, of how disappointing he’s likely to be against the sum of Tony’s knowledge, and comes out wanting.

“Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve snaps himself out of the reverie he’s shook himself into, grabs what he needs, and swarms back to the bed. He vows to himself, furiously and solemnly, that if this is it. If this is his only chance to have this, that he will make Tony shake apart so thoroughly he’ll at least remember Steve fondly. 

It’s with that thought that he travels down Tony’s body and licks a swipe across the head of Tony’s cock with no preamble. 

_“Steve-!”_ Tony cries out with a bitten off curse. Steve grins up at him, smug and indulgent, before taking Tony deep into his throat. It’s rough at first, he has to bite back the urge to gag. Tony isn’t as large as him, but it’s still a weight he feels on his tongue and it’s been a while since Steve’s done this. He never trusted Brock, the man too focused on his own pleasure to care whether he suffocated Steve in chasing it. 

He trusts Tony though, a nebulous new thing that Steve doesn’t quite understand himself. It sits and settles against his heart though, letting him be bold and guide Tony’s hands to the back of his head, pushing them forward when Tony looks down at him confused. He hopes he translates his desire in his eyes as he stares up at Tony.

It’s an arresting sight, Tony’s eyes blown wide with shock and desire, irises almost black. “Jesus” he whispers, and the word sound like a confession. He guides him gently at first, Steve taking to it like a duck to water and it isn’t long before he’s fucking his mouth with abandon. And when Steve reaches down to relieve the pressure on his own cock with a swipe. Tony swears and moves his hands faster. He lubes his hand up, and when he finally slips a finger into Tony’s dark heat the man curses and pulls Steve off his cock with a tug just this side of painful.

“Sorry, sorry.” Tony slurs, “but if you continued this was going to be finished all too fast. Jesus _Christ_ Steve how did I get lucky enough to find you.”

The words twist in Steve’s stomach, and despite how he might want to desperately read into them he knows better than that. So he smirks, a little thing, heady on the knowledge that Tony’s near out of his mind and he did that. He did, no other memory, no other person, will come into their bed tonight. It’s just them and it’s glorious.

He continues opening Tony up, scissoring his fingers when he adds another, and on the third finger Tony’s incoherent. He’s sweaty and flushed and gorgeous and Steve hasn’t fallen so hard so fast in a very long time but it doesn’t mean he’s not making it up for it now.

“Okay, enough, enough, enough.” Tony repeats like it’s the only words he knows.

“Have you never heard that good things come to those who wait?” Steve replies, near panting through the desire that clogs his throat.

“I must have been very very good in a past life, cause this feels like an eternity.”

Nevertheless, Steve acquiesces, only because he thinks he’s not far from being able to come like this, untouched on nothing but the heavy words of Tony’s arousal. He sheaths himself, and gives his cock a few lazy swipes with lube, a proud flush sweeping up his skin when Tony makes a noise between shock and arousal, and presses forward.

The pressure is overwhelming, the heat that slowly surrounds him intoxicating. He listens to Tony’s every gasp, stutter, and sinks slowly into a world he never wants to leave. The only sound their heavy breaths, Steve falls further, until he’s fully seated with a moan that tears out of Tony’s lips, mingled with a groan of his own.

“ _Fuuck -“_ Tony whimpers.

“You okay?” Steve can’t help but ask, inwardly cursing. Even now, as intimately connected as two people can be, his inexperience betrays him.

Tony looks up with soft, dark eyes. “I’m amazing – it’s just – well, let’s just say you are definitely in proportion. I’m going to feel you for days.” The last is on a whisper, sending arousal shooting up Steve’s spine. Tony tracks his shudder with a sudden laser like focus, “Oh you _like_ that, don’t you. Like the idea of me thinking of you with every step, feeling the delicious slide of you for hours. Flushing red in meetings with every cross of my legs.”

Now Steve’s the one swearing, “Fuck Tony, the mouth on you.” He drops his forehead to Tony’s, and the pair grin at each other, sweaty and flush. It shouldn’t be this easy, something in Steve wants to warn him. But right now, linked to Tony in a way that feels like forever, he can’t seem to care.

“Well, hop to it soldier.” Tony grins, links his legs around Steve’s waist that makes the angle of Steve inside him shift with a delicious slide.

And, well, Steve’s never been one to shirk orders. Especially when they come wrapped up in a package so stunning.

He thrusts slowly at first, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in with a wicked slide. But they both know the only place this can lead to, Steve feels the orgasm build behind his eyelids lazily, and from Tony’s groans he surmises the man can’t be far behind. So he slides a hand down Tony’s right calf, turning to press a kiss to it, before pulling it up to his shoulder. The angle changes something, and the next thrust has Tony crying out loud enough that Steve would blush if Tony had neighbors to embarrass.

“Oh my god – oh my god.” Tony whispers, barely loud enough for Steve to hear. So Steve grins down at him, aware of the sweat pooling in the crook of his brow, and picks the pace to one practically unbearable in its sensation. The room fills with the lewd and filthy sound of bare skin slapping in an unmistakable cacophony, Tony punctuating it with little punched out moans that bring a flush to Steve’s cheeks.

Steve barely the presence of mind, pleasure clouding his vision, to remember vaguely Tony’s comments about command, and he’s surprised that he’s even barely able to talk, so close now to supernova.

‘Tony. Come on. Come for me.” He says, and Tony whimpers, a feeble and throaty sound, “ _Come for me._ ” He says, threading command through his voice, dark and deep.

Tony falls apart so beautifully, comes with a beautiful sound close to dying. Steve follows not far behind, vision whiting out for a second. He sees Tony’s eyelids flutter, breath come thick and fast, before he falls forward into Tony’s arms.

“Gimme a minute –“ he slurs, and Tony vibrates deliciously with a laugh underneath him.

“After that, you can have all the minutes you want. Jesus.” Tony’s voice is hazy and indulgent, and Steve feels a hand thread through his sweat slicked hair, strokes soft and slow. He lets out a rumble close to a purr, before shaking himself and pulling out slow enough they both whine with the renewed sensation.

He pulls the condom off, and gets up with coltish legs, looking for the bathroom.

“Over there,” Tony mumbles with a slow wave, “M’think I’m gonna pass out.”

Steve laughs, steps into the bathroom, shocked again by what he finds. It’s unbelievably indulgent, gold trimmed ceramic and smooth metal, steps up to a bath big enough for ten in the middle of the room. His filthy mind slips quick to the fantasy of his cock being surrounded by the warm heat of Tony, his skin being surrounded by the warm heat of a bath and Jacuzzi jets.

He shakes the image free. _Don’t think you’ll get an encore, Steve._

When he finally slips back into the room, Tony’s chest rises and falls with the ease of someone fallen into deep sleep. Steve stares down, gut twisting. He can’t read too much into this, he can’t. Last time he fell like this lead to destruction, to a mortar shell set alight in his chest.

To Peggy, bleeding out in his arms.

So he presses a kiss to Tony’s forehead, cleans him up gently as Tony mewls and leans into the feeling in his sleep, and shrugs into his clothes thrown across the floor.

He looks back once, surprised Tony doesn’t wake at the sound of Steve’s heart tearing in two.

* * *

When all’s said and done, Steve’s lucky he has such great friends. Those that take one look at his broken shell at work the next morning, and let him hurt internally without digging into the wound.

“You look like shit, Steve.” Bucky says.

Or not. Steve needs to get new friends.

“Holy shit, you look ready to throw up. Aim for Sam.” Clint crows.

“Fuck off Barton, like shit are you meddling with my ‘vomit-free since ’03’ status!” Sam shouts from his desk.

No seriously, Steve _needs_ new friends, “You know, as your boss, I could technically fire you all.” He says, darkly.

“Yeah right, who’d listen to your rants about the New York Dodgers. I swear that’s what my EBIDTA bonus was for last year.” Bruce interjects.

Steve sets his jaw mulishly, “I think plenty of people would like to hear what I’ve got to say on Roberts’ active roster.”

“Your phone number got banned from phoning into Rocky 101 because you kept boring them with twenty minute segues into players form, I think that’s strong evidence to the contrary.” Natasha points out to muffled laughter.

“They couldn’t handle the truth I was laying down” Steve says, the rest of the group shouting every word in tandem with the well-worn knowledge that only years of friendship can bring. Despite himself, he feels a grin tremble around the edge of his mouth.

“In all seriousness though, what’s going on? You’ve got bags on bags on bags under your eyes.” Clint asks.

The grin that had threatened his face vanishes, “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Steve –“

“I said I don’t want to talk about it. Get to work everyone.” He barks, and the room goes silent. Steve doesn’t often dictate, happy to let his team work miracles in the free rein he gives them. He strides past them and steps into his office, swinging the door shut behind him and falls into his chair with a groan.

Upon getting home last night, he didn’t sleep a moment. He could still smell Tony on him, an earthy smell of motor oil and cinnamon. He could still feel Tony’s hair under his fingers. He could still feel Tony’s hands on his back. He could press his palm into his spine and feel it catch on scratch marks left by Tony’s raking fingernails.

So he lay in bed, not sleeping, barely breathing. He had no clue how lying to his friends had ended in feelings soaked in something frighteningly close to love. But he had always been this side of an idiot, so what else is new. 

He’s lost like that for a while, not sure how long, before a knock sounds at his door, he’d recognize that metallic ring, clear and pure, anywhere.

It’s Bucky, “Hey man. I’m not here to bug you. Just wanted to run some plans Nat and I have sketched out around Stark’s systems. I think we’ve made some good progress.”

“Shit, I’m sorry Buck. I don’t think that’ll be coming our way anymore.” Steve says, rubbing his eyelids and feels stars explode behind them. He opens his eyes to Bucky staring down at him, a mixed look of sadness and understanding.

“This got something to do with why you look like you’ve just gone twenty rounds with a grizzly bear and come worse off?” he asks, soft like he’s trying not to spook him. And well, Steve’s never been able to lie to Bucky with any success.

“Don’t know what you are talking about, I’d dominate a fight with a bear. Like ‘Leo Dicaprio in The Revenant’ dominate.” Steve jokes weakly.

“Steve, he almost died. Do not think that’s the best example you could have given.” Bucky smirks, “Want to talk about it?”

“Not just yet, sorry Buck.” Steve says, voice breaking around the vowels.

“No worries Stevie, just know we’re here when you need it.” Bucky steps round the table, claps his shoulder once, and leaves as quick as he arrived. Steve mentally rescinds the note about needing new friends, and descends into work, any work that doesn’t have Tony’s name stamped across the front.

It can’t be more than an hour or two before the door knocks again, harried and sharp.

“Buck – not just now –“ and Steve doesn’t finish the rest of the sentence before the door is flung wide and a figure he wouldn’t have expected to darken his door stands there before him, panting with wild eyes.

“So. That’s it then?” Tony Stark stands, radiating anger from his skin, face flushed with exertion. A drop of sweat trickles down his chin and settles in the crook of his collarbone. Steve tracks it, and gulps.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, voice calm with serenity he doesn’t feel. His heart is up in his throat, clogging his breath, thundering through his skin.

“You storm into my life like a hurricane, make me your pretend boyfriend and let me fall in love with your friends and your life in less than a day like some shitty romcom. Then you get inside my skin and fuck me like you mean it, and then leave?” Tony’s voice steadily grows louder, shaking with rage.

 _Fuck he’s gorgeous,_ Steve’s helpless to do anything but note. He idly sees Clint and Nat peering round their desks in the background, watching the mess spill out in all its glory.

“Do you want to come inside?” Steve asks, helpless. Tony shakes his head empathically and repeatedly.

“No I don’t want to fucking come inside.” He hisses, “I want to understand if I’ve totally missed a trick here, and the connection I felt was all one-way traffic. I want to know if your party trick is making people fall apart in the face of the sheer inherit _goodness_ of you, before leaving without so much as a by your leave. A wham-bam-thank you ma’am. But hey, at least you can tell everyone you fucked Tony Stark right? Should have made you sign a fucking NDA.”

Steve flushes with anger now, swarming up from his desk, “How can you say that?! You’d have only kicked me out come sunrise, I thought I better do us both a favour and spare the awkward morning after!”

Tony balks, hurt shooting through his eyes before it’s masked as quick as it arrived, “Do you know, you’re not the first to assume the worst about me.” He looks up, smile sad, “You’re the first to be wrong, though.”

He moves to leave, and Steve feels something slipping through his fingers. He can’t do anything but hold on firm.

“I can’t just bulldoze into your life. You don’t know me, you don’t know how _broken_ I am.” His voice breaks on the last words, “You deserve better. Do you know there are days I wash my hands until they bleed because I can still see the blood of my friends on them?” it’s too honest, too raw. But it’s all he knows. Here, he says, look under the hood, see enough to scare you off and let me lick my wounds in peace.

“You might not want to bulldoze, but you did anyway. I had you.” Tony’s voice breaks, “I had you for two amazing days. And I don’t think I can go back to not having you.”

“ _Tony._ ” Steve is shocked, the weight of Tony’s confession hanging between them. And Tony stares at him now, eyes filled with a sadness that unmans Steve in the face of it. He turns to leave as the silence stretches out in front of them.

“I – I don’t know what I’m doing.” Steve cries out to stop him, words echoing back to a conversation less than sixteen hours before. Tony turns back, smiles slowly at the look Steve soaks him with.

“Me neither.” He repeats, and Steve is powerless, like he was, he is, and always will be, in the face of Tony’s gravity. He stumbles toward him like a man starved, frames his face in his hands. They smile at each other, huffing a laugh into each other’s space. Even now, Steve can’t believe he gets this. That he gets to have _this._

He tips forward, capturing Tony’s lips with his own.

A laugh from Natasha, loud and bright, rings out somewhere behind them. Bucky claps once, the metallic sound clear and pure.

**Author's Note:**

> i play fast and loose with military terminology, anything jarring please let me know.
> 
> i also wrote near 3000 words of straight up love soaked porn. don't know whether i'm proud or horrified. 
> 
> _please_ do drop a comment, or find me on [tumblr](https://eachxnn.tumblr.com/)


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